Chapter 5 book bag

Some people read for instruction, and that is admirable; some people read for pleasure, and that is not something to be blamed for; but many read only from habit, which, I think, cannot escape the blame. It is also not worthy of praise.I am one of those miserable people.Long chats tire me out, games tire me out, and these things drain my mind—an inexhaustible resource for rational beings.And so I came to my book again, as an opium smoker to his pipe.I might quickly go through the contents of the Military Goods Store or Bradshaw's Guide and spend hours happily reading them.There was a time when I would never leave the house without a used bookseller's shopping list in my pocket.I don't know of anything more fun than reading.Of course, I also know that such reading is as reprehensible as taking drugs, so I have always wondered why those great readers should look down on those who cannot read.Will reading a thousand books be able to understand the mystery of eternal life better than plowing a thousand acres of land?Let us boldly admit that reading to us is just like a poison that cannot be quit - who among these people has not experienced the restlessness after reading for a long time, the fear and excitement, and the feeling of finally finishing a book? That sigh of relief at the end of the book?So we can be less conceited when it comes to those poor hypodermic slaves.

Like the drug addict who doesn't go out without having enough sedatives with him, I don't dare go out without a good amount of reading material.Books are a necessity for me, so it was a great disappointment to see a fellow traveler on the train who didn't have any books.And, when I'm going on a long trip, the problem is even more difficult to deal with.I also got a lot of lessons.Once, because of illness, I was imprisoned in a small mountain town in Java. I stayed there for three full months and read all the books I brought.Later, because I didn't know Dutch, I had to buy Javanese French and German textbooks to read.And so, after twenty-five years, I reread Goethe's grim plays, the fables of La Fontaine, and the tragedies of the tender and precise Racine.I admire Racine the most, but I have to admit that it is indeed a very painful thing to read his plays one after another.I have since made up my mind that I must travel with the largest linen pocket I can ever carry, that I will stuff my pockets with books for every occasion and every mood.Then my luggage would be so heavy that even a strong porter would have to stagger with it on his back.Customs officials would look sideways at this, but when I told them it was full of books, I would be surprised and awed again.The inconvenience of this is that the book I want to read is often at the bottom of the book bag, so I have to dump all the books in the bag to get the book I want.However, if it weren't for this, I might not have had the chance to hear about Oliver Hardy's legendary history.

When I travel around the Malay Peninsula, I always stay here and there for a while, and if there is a rest house or hotel in the area, I will stay for a week or two.If I had to stay in the home of some very inhospitable grower or district official, I'd stay for a day or two and then leave.I happened to be in Penang when it happened.It's a charming town, and I've always been happy with the hotels, but strangers always have nothing to do there, and the time is slipping by in my hands.One morning I received a letter from a man whom I only knew by name.His name is Mark Featherstone.He was the acting headmaster of a place called Danglar.Soon there will be a Songkran festival there, Featherstone thinks, and I might be interested.He said he would be happy if I could come and live with him for a few days.I telegraphed to him that I would be glad to go, and that I would take the next day's train to Tenggala.Featherstone met me at the station.Featherstone was about thirty-five, tall and handsome, with pretty eyes and a serious face.He also has a stiff black beard and bushy eyebrows.He looked more like a soldier than a government official.Wearing a white canvas suit and a white sun hat, he was very elegantly dressed and looked very smart.He was a little shy, which was odd for a tall, resolute man, but I guessed it was because he wasn't used to socializing with such a strange person as me—a writer—so, I Decided to let him relax as soon as possible.

"My valet will look after your things for you," he said. "We're off to the club. Give them your keys, and they'll have your things packed for you when we get back." I told him that I had so much stuff with me that I wanted to leave the rest at the train station except for valuables.However, he didn't take it seriously. "It's all right. It'll be safer in my house. It's always better than taking your own luggage with you." "okay then." I handed over the keys, my ticket for the car, and my bookbag to a Chinese boy standing next to my host.There was a car waiting for us outside the station, so we got into it.

"Do you play bridge?" Featherstone asked me. "yes." "I thought most writers didn't play." "It is true," I said, "that writers generally regard playing cards as a sign of mental inadequacy." The club was a one-story house, very pleasant and not a place of vanity; there was a large reading room, a pool room with only one pool table, and a small card room.When we arrived, it was a bit empty, except for one or two people reading the English weekly newspaper, and as we passed the tennis courts, we saw a few couples playing tennis.There were people sitting on balconies watching, smoking or drinking mugs of beer.Featherstone introduced me to one or two of them.But twilight gradually came, and the players began to see the ball less clearly.Featherston asked a guy I had just been introduced to if he wanted to play poker.He replied yes.So Featherstone began looking for a fourth.He saw a man sitting alone, and after a moment's hesitation, he strode forward.After the two exchanged a few words, they walked towards my direction.We went to the chess room together.We had a great time.I didn't pay much attention to the two people who joined later.They toasted me as a casual member of the club, and I toasted them back.It wasn't hard liquor we drank, just whiskey that wasn't very strong.Therefore, in these two hours, everyone was able to express their sincerity to each other without excessive drinking.Time slipped away from us very quickly, and soon it was the last hand of cards.At this point, instead of whiskey, we switched to gin.Then, the last hand of cards was over.Featherstone got everyone ready to settle the bill, so everyone's win or loss was decided.At this time, one of them stood up.

"Well, I have to go," he said. "Going back to your manor?" Featherstone asked. "Yes," he answered with a nod, then turned to look at me. "Are you coming here tomorrow?" "hope so." Then, he walked out of the room. "I'm going to get my folks home for dinner too," said another. "We should go too," said Featherstone. "It doesn't matter to me. It depends on your convenience. I can leave at any time." We got in the car and drove all the way to his house.It was a long way to get to his house.It was so dark that I could barely see anything, but after a while I realized we were on a very steep mountain road.After a while, I finally arrived at his house.

It was an ordinary pleasant evening, but not very exciting, and I don't know how many evenings like this I've had.I never thought anything impressive would happen. Featherstone led me into his living room.It looks very comfortable here, but it is also very ordinary.There was a large bamboo armchair covered with chintz and many framed portraits on the walls; newspapers, magazines, and official reports were stacked on the table, and there were pipes for Yellow tins for cigarettes cut lengthwise, and pink tins for tobacco.There are many books in a mess on the bookshelves, and there are traces of damp and termites on the edges of the books.Featherstone showed me my room, and as he left he asked me:

"Can you be ready in ten minutes and come out for a gin?" "That's an easy thing to do," I said. After I showered and changed my clothes, I went downstairs.Featherstone was already ready before I did, and started pouring the wine when I heard the sound of my stepping on the bamboo stairs.We had dinner and chatted together.The festival he invited me to was the next day, but Featherstone said he wanted to arrange for me to meet the local governor before then. "He's a happy old boy," he said, "and, besides, he lives in a very nice place." After dinner we chatted a little longer, Featherstone turned on the phonograph, and we looked at the latest illustrated periodicals from England.Then, we were ready for bed.Featherstone came to my room first to make sure everything I needed was in order.

"I suppose you didn't bring any books," he said. "It's a pity I haven't any books to read." "Book?" I called. I pointed to my book bag.It stood there strangely bloated, so that it looked like a statue of a hunched Patronus. "Are there books in there? I thought it was dirty linen or a camp bed or something. Can you lend me some?" "Find it yourself." Featherstone's valet had unfastened the bag, but he could not open it any further.And I have a lot of experience opening this bag.I put it aside, held its bottom, stepped back a little, and dumped the books inside onto the floor.Featherstone suddenly showed a look of panic.

"You don't go on a long journey with so many books, do you? My God!" He bent down and flipped through the titles of the books one by one.There are all kinds of books in this book bag.There are books of poetry, novels, works of philosophy, and critical studies (books that talk about books are said to be unhelpful, but they can be very interesting to read), and there are books of biography and history; Books to read; books I've always wanted to read but couldn't find the time to read at home, and books to read when you meander across narrow waters across oceans on an irregular cargo ship; There are books to read when the weather is bad and your whole cabin is creaking and you have to tuck yourself firmly in your bunk to keep from falling out; The kind you can take with you when you go hiking light, and the kind you can read when you have nothing else to read.Eventually, Featherstone found a recently published book about Byron's life.

"How about this one, man?" he said. "I just read a review of it a while ago." "I think it's going to be pretty good," I replied, "but I haven't read it yet." Can I borrow it? I want to read it tonight." "Of course. You can take any book you like." "That's enough. Good night, then. Our breakfast is at eight-thirty in the morning." Next morning, when I went downstairs, the footman told me that Featherstone started working at six, but he would be here soon.While I waited for him, I glanced at his shelf. "I see you have a lot of books on bridge," I remarked when we sat down to breakfast. "Yes, I bought all the bridge books. I like them very much." "One of the guys we played with yesterday played really well." "Which one? Hardy?" "I don't know either. All I know is that it wasn't the one who said he was going to pick up his wife. It was the other one." "Yeah, that's Hardy. That's why I got him to play poker with us. He doesn't go to the club much." "I hope he'll pass by tonight." "I don't count on that. His estate is thirty miles away. It's all too far to come just to play bridge." "Is he married?" "No. No, married. But his wife is in England." "It must be very lonely for these men to live alone on those estates," I said. "Oh, I think he's much better off. I don't think he likes meeting people very much. I guess he's often alone in England too." When Featherstone said these words, I felt a little strange.I felt his voice tremble.He seemed to be away from me all of a sudden.It was like someone passing a street at night and stopping at the window of a brightly lit house to observe the comforting scene inside, but suddenly an invisible hand blocked his view.He always liked to look at the person he was talking to very frankly, but at this moment, his eyes were avoiding me, and I noticed that a painful expression suddenly appeared on his face.He frowns for a moment, as if experiencing a tingle of nerves.I didn't know what to say, and Featherstone said nothing more.I realized that at this moment his thoughts were far away from me, away from the topic we were discussing, and drifted to something I didn't know.After a while, he sighed suddenly, soft but audible, and he looked like he was trying to pull himself together. "After breakfast, I must go to the office at once," he said. "What are you going to do?" "Oh, don't worry about me. I can walk around. I'm going to have a good walk around town." "There's nothing to see in this town." "I don't think it matters. To me, everything is scenery." I found that just the corridors of Featherstone kept me entertained all morning.Here is the widest view.Here the governor's mansion was built on top of a hill, and the gardens there were large and looked like they were well tended.Tall trees make the garden look like an English garden at first glance.There is a large area of ​​lawn inside, and there are black and haggard Tamils, who are waving sickles in a calm and graceful posture.Below this garden was a dense jungle, and beside it was a broad, meandering, swiftly flowing river.On the other side of this scene, as far as the eye can see, is the wooded hill of Tenggra.The manicured lawns, strangely very English, contrasted strongly with the savage growth of the jungle beyond, and added to the delight of the place.I sat in a chair, smoking a cigarette and reading a book.I am very curious about human beings, and I began to ask myself how this peaceful scene affected Featherstone, who had lived here for a long time.He knew everything here: at dawn, when the mist rose over the river like a dreadful coffin.The afternoon sun was dazzling, and at last, as the shadows of evening slowly moved out of the jungle, like an army marching cautiously in a strange country, it was not long before night swept over the green lawns and flowers. The trees, of course, and those fluttering cinnamon.I wondered how this tender, strange and menacing landscape produced his nervousness and loneliness, how it imbued him with an air of mystery that made his life, a talented administrator, athlete , The life of a good partner sometimes seems unreal to him.I smiled while fantasizing.Of course, in our conversation the night before, he hadn't shown much restlessness in his soul.I think he's a pretty nice guy.He is a graduate of Oxford University and a member of an exclusive club in London.He takes social matters very seriously.He was a gentleman, and more or less conscious of being a class above many Englishmen he knew.From the assorted silver trophies that adorned his room, I could tell he was an athletic athlete.He is good at playing tennis and billiards.During his vacations, he hunts, and, because he cares about his body, he is very careful about his diet.He often talks about what he wants to do after retirement.He had longed for the life of a country gentleman.Own a small house in Leicestershire, surrounded by hunters and neighbors with whom to play bridge.At that time, he will be able to receive a pension, and he will also have a small sum of money.At the same time, he is also working very hard, if not very good, but also fully competent.I believe that in the eyes of his superiors, he must be a very trustworthy official.There's a lot of really interesting things about him.He's like a well-planned novel, so honest and competent yet so commonplace that you feel as if you've read something like it before, and you might turn the pages languidly and think there's absolutely nothing in it. Nothing will surprise or excite you. But human beings are always immeasurable, and whoever tells himself that he knows all the talents of a man must be a fool. In the afternoon Featherstone took me to the officer.We were received by one of his sons, a young man who was often smiling but shy.He was dressed in a neat blue dress, with a sarong tied around his waist, the bottom of the yellow sarong was embroidered with small white flowers, a red felt hat on his head, and fashionable American shoes on his feet.The mansion is completely in a Moorish style, like a big doll's house, and painted bright yellow representing the royal family.He ushered us into a spacious room furnished with the sort of furniture you might find in an English seaside flat, but the chairs were covered with yellow silk.The floor was covered with carpets from Brussels, and on the walls hung various splendid photographs of our officers in various positions, all framed in gold.In a storage cabinet, filled with all kinds of "fruit" crocheted.When the officer came out, he was accompanied by several waiters.He looked to be about fifty years of age, short and stout, in trousers and a yellow and white tunic; also a very handsome yellow sarong at his waist, and a white felt hat on his head.His big eyes are handsome and friendly.He prepared coffee, dessert and cigars for us.It's easy to talk to him because he's such a nice guy.He told me that he was so devout that he never went to the theater or played cards, but he had four wives and twenty-four children.For him, the only obstacle to happiness was the reasonable and fair distribution of his spare time among his four wives, in order to appear graceful and respectable.He said that the same hour spent with one wife is like a month, while with another wife it may only be equivalent to a few minutes.I commented, Professor Einstein—or is it Bergson? ——has made similar observations on time, and provided many thinking materials for the world.Soon we got up to say our goodbyes, and as we were leaving, the officer gave me some beautiful white melaka white canes as a present. In the evening, we went to the club again.After we entered, a man who had played cards with us the day before got up from his chair. "Come to play cards?" he said. "Are there four of us now?" I asked. "Oh, there are plenty of people here who are willing to play poker." "Is the other guy we played with yesterday?" I can't remember his name. "Hardy? He's not here." "We don't have to wait for him," Featherstone said. "He rarely comes to the club. I was also surprised when I saw him last night." For some reason, I always feel that there is a strange embarrassment hidden in the very ordinary words of these two men.Hardy didn't impress me, I don't even remember what he looked like anymore.He's just one of the people making the table.It's not a big deal for me, whoever is joining us at the moment, I'll be satisfied.Today, we did have more fun than yesterday.Chips are constantly flowing from one end to the other.We didn't play poker very seriously, but laughed happily while playing.I wondered if it was because the other two weren't very shy around the new guy, or because Hardy's presence made them feel somehow constrained?At eight-thirty we said good-bye, and Featherstone and I went back to his house for dinner. After supper we reclined in armchairs and smoked cigars.For some reason, our conversation did not go easily.I tried many topics, but Featherstone always seemed uninterested.So I thought maybe he'd said all he needed to say in the last twenty-four hours.So, feeling a little discouraged, I also started to keep quiet.Time passed by second by second, and for some reason, I suddenly felt uncomfortable.I got a strange feeling that people are not really alone, but feel lonely.Before long, I realized that Featherstone was looking directly at me.I was sitting by an oil lamp, and he was in the shadow of the light, so I couldn't see the expression on his face.Yet in the semi-darkness his large, lustrous eyes shimmered dimly, like bootbuckles reflecting light.I wondered why he was looking at me that way.I glanced at him and found a slight smile in his eyes staring at me. "It was very interesting that you lent me that book last night," he said suddenly.However, I feel that his voice is extremely unnatural, and this voice feels very bad.The words that flowed from his lips seemed to be pushed out abruptly. "Is it The Life of Byron?" I asked him, smiling. "Have you read it?" "I read a lot. Last night I read until three o'clock in the morning." "It's very well written, I've heard. But Byron probably doesn't appeal to me as much as he does to you. A lot of his stuff is second-rate and uncomfortable." "What do you think of the story between him and his sister?" "Augusta Lee? I don't know that very well. I haven't read Astarte." "Do you think they really love each other?" "I suppose so. It is generally believed that Augusta Lee was the only woman Byron ever truly loved." "Can you understand their feelings?" "I don't quite get it. It doesn't surprise me, either. I just find it unnatural. Or, 'unnatural' isn't the right word to describe it. Anyway, it's hard for me to understand it. .I don’t put myself in a relationship that’s just not possible. You know, that’s how writers get to know their characters, and they put themselves in their shoes and feel for them.” I know I didn't express what was in my heart, but I did try my best to describe the feeling, the subconscious activity, which I am familiar with from experience, but I'm having trouble finding the right words to precisely describe. describe them.But I continued on. "Yes, she's only his half-sister, but I think habit can kill growth just as habit can kill love. If two people live together as close relatives all their lives, I can't help it." Imagine how they could still spark love. There may be a deep relationship between them, but I always feel that the relationship is actually the worst enemy of love." Under the dim light, I vaguely saw a smile on the face of the host, but in my opinion, his face was still full of sadness. "Do you only believe in love at first sight?" "I think so, but I think people meet twenty times or so before they start dating. 'Meeting' can have a positive effect, but it can also be negative. The words are so insignificant that none of us would want to see them again. We just reminisce about the impressions they made on us in the past." "Yes, but we also often hear stories like this: some couples may have known each other for a long time before marriage, but never paid much attention to each other, and then suddenly one day, they got married. How do you explain this situation?" "Well, if you want me to show logic and consistency, all I can say is that their love is a different case. Anyway, passion is not the only reason people marry. And maybe not the most important one .Two people get married, maybe because they are lonely, or because they are good friends, or for the sake of convenience. Although I say that affection is the worst enemy of love, but I have to admit that it is also a very Good substitute. Marriage based on affection doesn't have to be unhappy." "What do you think of Tim Hardy?" I was a little surprised that he asked this question out of the blue, because it didn't seem to have anything to do with our conversation. "He didn't impress me very much. But he seems pretty good, doesn't he?" "Does he seem to you like any other man?" "Yes. Is there anything special about him? Perhaps I would have paid more attention to him if you had told me." "He's very quiet, isn't he? I think very few people are impressed after seeing him for the first time." I started trying to remember what Tim Hardy looked like.The only thing that struck me about him when we were playing cards was that he had really nice hands.I was thinking casually, that's not like the hands a grower should have.Yet I never asked myself why he had hands that were different from those of other growers.He was a bit tall, but he was in good shape, with extremely long fingers and very beautiful nails.His hands were masculine, yet had an odd quality to them.I noticed this, but haven't given it much thought since.But if you are a writer, years of instinct and habit may cause you to unconsciously store these particular impressions in your mind.Of course, sometimes these impressions may not be consistent with the facts. For example, in your subconscious mind, you may think that a certain woman is dark and thick, and has a pair of big eyes, but she may actually be very petite, or There are no special features.But that's not important at all.First impressions can also be more accurate than the truth.Now, when I try to search my mind for memories of this man, everything seems a little blurry.The beard on his face has obviously been well-trimmed, and his oval face is not thin. Due to long-term exposure to the hot tropical sun, the face looks a little pale for no reason.He gave me a vague impression.I don't know if the impression I have of him now is a real memory, or just my own imagination. In short, I feel that his round chin gives me a sick feeling.He has a thick head of tan hair that is starting to gray, a long lock that always slides over his forehead.And he always reaches out and strokes it behind his head, which has almost become a habitual action.His brown eyes were large and soft, but also seemed melancholy; there was a kind of melting tenderness about them, which, I suppose, should be easy to impress. After a moment's pause, Featherstone continued: "It's really weird to meet Tim Hardy here after all these years. But that's the way people do things here. People wander around and you may often meet you years later in another place Someone I've known somewhere. When I first met Tim, he was running some estates in Spooky. Have you ever been to that place?" "No. Where is this place?" "Oh, it's up north, in the direction of Siam. It's not worth going there, because there's nothing special about it. It's pretty nice, though, and there's a nice little club with a lot of A lot of nice people. School principals, police chiefs, doctors, clergymen, government engineers. You know, the kind that usually go to clubs. And some growers, and three or four women. My It was one of my first jobs. The Tim Hardy estate was about twenty-five miles away from the club. He lived here with his sister. They were a bit money, and bought that place. At that time, the rubber industry was doing very well, and his business was not doing badly. We liked each other. Of course, the growers are also different, and some of them are very nice people. Yes, some of them are really not so good..." He was trying to find words that sounded less snobby, "Well, they are not some people you can meet in your own country anyway. Tim and Oliver belong to their own A peculiar class—if you know what I mean." "Oliver is Tim's sister, right?" "Yes. They've had a very unfortunate past. Their parents separated when they were very young—probably when they were seven or eight years old, and then the mother took Oliver and the father In charge of raising Tim. Tim went to Clifton. They are westerners and only come home on holidays. His father is a retired navy and lives in Fowey. But Oliver went with her mother Italy. She went to school in Florence and speaks fluent Italian and French. Over the years, Tim and Oliver never saw each other again, but they often wrote to each other. They were used to being attached to each other as children. I guess life must have been full of ups and downs when they lived together, and it must have been very distressing, you know, when two married people don't want to be together anymore, they just keep to themselves. Later, Mrs. Hardy died, so Oliver returned to England and joined his father. At that time, she was eighteen years old and Tim was seventeen. A year later, the war broke out. Tim joined the army, and their My father, in his fifties, also took a job in Portsmouth. I suppose he had a hard life and a lot of alcohol. Before the war was over, he broke down and died after a long illness. They don't seem to have anything to do with each other. They're one of the last of the old-fashioned families who have a nice old ancestral home in Dorset, but they've always found it too expensive to live in, so they've always put It's rented out. As far as I remember, I've seen pictures of the house. It's definitely a gentleman's house. It's all gray stone and looks pretty stately, with railings on the front door and mullions on the windows .Their biggest ambition is to earn enough money to live in the old ancestral home.They often bring it up.They never mention that they will marry each other,it seems that they will live together forever.Given their For ages, it's very interesting." "How old were they then?" I asked. "Oh, Tim was like twenty-five or twenty-six, I guess, and Olive was a year older. They were both very nice to me when I first got to Spooky. They liked me straight away. You know, we have more in common than anyone else out there. I think they're happy to have me around, because they're not particularly popular." "Why?" I asked. "They've always been quiet, and you can imagine they feel that their lifestyle is superior to other people's. I don't know if you've noticed that, but it's often irritating. People resent it and think they're better off without them .” "They're kind of annoying, aren't they?" I said. "Tim is his own owner and has some private income, which makes the other growers very unhappy. They have old Fords and Tim has a real car. Tim and Oliver to the club Come, be nice to everyone, they'll play tennis games and stuff like that, and yet you tend to get the feeling that they're happy when they're finally out of the crowd. They might go out to eat with people and be nice to people, but很明显，他们可能更愿意待在家里。有理智的人可能并不会责怪他们。我不知道你是否常常去种植者的家。他们的家通常很单调，家里堆着很多华而不实的家具，也有银饰及老虎皮。他们的食物往往难以下咽。然而哈代家的房子却非常漂亮。里面并没有什么华贵的东西，只是很简单，很舒适，也很有家的感觉。他们的起居室就像是英国乡间房屋里的客厅。你能感觉到，他们对自己的东西很有感情，并且那些东西可能追随他们很长时间了。他们家是个很值得待的地方。那屋子位于那些地产中部，但却是在一座小山的边缘部分，从那里望出去，你刚好可以看到橡胶树以及远处的海洋。奥利弗花了很多心思来料理他们的花园，因此，那花园收拾得可真是漂亮。我还从来没有在别处见过那么漂亮的美人蕉。我常常去他们家过周末。从他们家去海边只要半小时车程，因此，我们常常带上午餐去海边游泳或是滑水。而蒂姆在海边还有个小船。我们在那里度过了许多开心的日子，我从未像那个时候那样开心过。那里的海岸非常漂亮，并且极富浪漫色彩。傍晚，我们往往会玩象棋或是听唱片。他们做的东西也极为可口。奥利弗教他们的厨师学会了各种意大利菜，因此我们常常能吃到极美味的通心粉和意大利汤饭等。那时，我总是止不住地羡慕他们的生活，他们是那么的快乐，那么的平静，当他们提到以后会返回英国定居时，我常常对他们说，他们日后一定会后悔自己放弃的这些东西。 “'我们曾在那里度过了一段非常开心的日子。'奥利弗说。 “她总是以自己的方式来看蒂姆，在她那长长的睫毛下，她的眼睛会缓慢而倾斜地扫过蒂姆，那是种非常迷人的眼神。 “在自己家中时，他们的表现与在外面时大不相同。他们非常放松，非常亲切。所有人都不得不承认这点，因此我敢说，人们一定很乐意去他们家。他们总能让你感觉就像是在自己家一样。这是个非常幸福的家，如果你明白我的意思。当然，大家都能看出，他们之间的感情有多么深厚。尽管人们说他们为人冷淡或总是以自我为中心，却也不得不被他们彼此间的那份疼爱所打动。人们都说，即使他们结婚了，也不能比现在更为亲密，你再看看有些夫妻是如何过日子的，便能发现，他们使大部分的婚姻都变得毫无意义。他们似乎能同时想到相同的事情。他们总有一些私密的笑话，这些笑话能让他们像小孩子那般欢笑。他们都非常吸引人，开心又幸福，和他们在一起真的是件可以让人心灵复苏的事情。我再也想不出其他的形容了。在和他们同住几天后，你会觉得你也吸收进了一些平静与朴素的愉悦。这就像是灵魂经受了清冽而澄澈的水的洗礼。你会有种不可思议的感觉，觉得自己得到了净化。” 听到费瑟斯通如此热情高涨地谈论这些，我感到有些奇怪。他穿着小巧洁白的外套，看起来非常英俊。他的小胡子修剪得很是整齐，厚厚的鬈发也经过了小心梳理，然而他那夸张的话语却让我感到有点儿不自在。但我总算意识到，他是想要用那笨拙的方式来表达自己最真挚的感情。 “奥利弗·哈代是个什么样的人？”我问。 “我来给你看看。我给她拍过很多快照。” 他从椅子上站起来，走到一个架子前，取出了一个大大的影集。这是个很平常的集子，里面有许多合照，也有很多并不是很吸引人的单人照。照片中的那些人穿着游泳衣或短裤，再不就是网球服，脸上常常因为强光的照射而表现出扭曲的神情，或是因为欢笑而被挤出歪曲的皱纹。我认出了哈代，他这十年来并没有多大变化，前额上仍是有一小绺头发。看到那快照后，我仿佛记起他来了。照片上的他看上去精神饱满，并且美好又年轻。他的表情里带有某种警觉，然而却很吸引人，而我在同他见面时显然并未注意到这点。他的眼里充满了某种对生活的渴望，尽管那照片已经有所褪色，但那眼睛仍旧在闪烁着属于他自己的光芒。我又瞥了一眼他的姐姐。她穿着游泳衣，这让我看到了她那发育良好的优美身段，然而却略觉有些瘦削，她的腿却是长得又细又长。 “他们看起来真的很像。”我说。 “是的，尽管奥利弗比蒂姆要长一岁，然而他们看起来却真的很像双胞胎姐弟。他们都有一张椭圆脸，皮肤苍白，面颊上也没有颜色。他们也都长着温柔的蓝眼睛，水汪汪的，非常吸引人，并且总会让你觉得，不管他们做了什么，你也绝不会生他们气。他们都有某种不经意的优雅气质，这让他们不管穿什么或是多么不整洁，看起来都还是非常迷人。我想他现在已经没有那份气质了，但我刚认识他时，他显然是有的。他们总让我想起中的那对兄妹。你应该知道我指的是谁。” “薇奥拉和西巴斯辛。” “他们看起来就像是从不属于这个时代一样。他们身上有伊丽莎白一世时的那份风格。我想，这并不仅仅是因为那时我还非常年轻，所以才觉得他们的那种浪漫很是奇怪。我感觉他们就像是生活在伊利里亚的人。” 我又看了一眼另一张快照。 “那女孩看起来比他弟弟更有个性。”我评论道。 “是的。我不知道你是否会称奥利弗为漂亮，但她确实颇具吸引力。她的身上总有某种诗意，为人极为热情，这给她的举止、行为和她的一切都增添了光彩。这让她整个地得到了提升。她有非常坦诚的表情，非常勇敢，非常独立——哦，我不知道为什么，只觉得她让那些单纯的美变得毫无光彩了。” “你说得就像是自己爱上了她一样。”我打断道。 “我当然是爱上了她。我本以为你立刻便能猜到的。我真是不由自主地爱上了她。” “是一见钟情吗？”我笑着问道。 “我想是的，但我也是大约一个月后才发现的。我是猛然间发现自己对她的感觉的——我不知道如何向你解释，那是一种整个将我扰乱的感觉——那就是爱，我知道我一直以来感觉到的就是爱。我爱的不仅是她的外表，虽然那确实很能诱惑人，她那苍白的皮肤特别光滑，她的头发掉到前额的样子，她那褐色的眼睛之庄重与甜美……我是无法用言语描绘出那一切的。总之，和她在一起时，你会觉得很激动，然而又很安宁，总之，在她面前你可以完全地放松下来，非常自然地表露自己，不必假装自己是其他什么人。你能感觉到，她绝不是个低劣的人，她也绝不是个好嫉妒或狡猾之人。她天生就有一个宽容的灵魂。即使同她默默地坐上一小时，你也会觉得自己是度过了一段非常美好的时光。” “这真是一种罕见的天赋。”我说。 “她真是个非常不错的同伴。当你提议去做什么事时，她总是会很高兴地配合你。她是我认识的女孩中，交往起来最不费力的人。你可以在最后的时刻毁约，但不管她有多么失望，对你的态度还是不会有所改变。下次你再见到她时，她还是像从前一样友好，一样宁静。” “你为什么没有娶她？” 费瑟斯通的雪茄抽完了。他扔掉了烟蒂，然后不慌不忙地另点了一根。他并没有立刻回答我的问题。居住在高度文明国家的人们可能会认为，他会将如此私密的事情告诉一个陌生人，是件挺奇怪的事情，然而我却不那么认为。我已经习惯陌生人对我吐露心声了。那些居住在地球的偏远地带，并活在令人绝望的孤独中的人们会认为，将那些困扰自己多年的故事、思绪或夜里的梦告诉一些此生可能永远不会再见的陌生人，是一种极大的解脱。并且我还觉得，自己那作家的身份让他们更容易信任我。他们明白，他们的故事将会激起你的兴趣，而你也会以一种客观的方式来看待这些故事，因此，他们便更容易在你面前敞开心扉。此外，我们都知道，谈论自己也并不是什么很让人不快的事情。 “你为什么没有娶她呢？” “我当然是非常想。”费瑟斯通终于回答道，“但我却一直很犹豫。虽然她对我很好，并且也很容易相处，我们也是很要好的朋友，但我总觉得她有些神秘。尽管她为人非常单纯、坦率又自然，但我总觉得她有一颗超然离群的心，在她的内心深处，似乎一直在保护着某种东西，不是秘密，但却是某种不能让外人知道的隐私。我不知道我有没有向你解释清楚。” “我想，我差不多明白你的意思了。” “我觉得这跟她成长的环境有关。他们兄妹从不谈及他们的母亲，但我总觉得，他们的母亲就是那种神经质又情绪化的女人，破坏了他们的幸福，并且，可能对身边的每个人而言，都是一种灾难。我猜想，她在佛罗伦萨的日子可能相当忙碌，并且突然意识到，奥利弗的美丽沉着可能是一种极力的自制，而她的那份高傲可能只是她为自己堆砌的一座堡垒，希望能借此远离过去的各种耻辱之事。不过毋庸赘言的是，那份骄傲当然极具吸引力。有一种奇怪的念头总在刺激着我，我想，要是她爱我，而我也娶了她，我便能最终进入她那隐藏的内心，看到她的秘密。那时我总感觉，要是能同她一起分享那些秘密，那我这一生就算没有白活了。那就是我所能想到的天堂。你知道，我那时的感觉就像是蓝胡子的妻子想要知道城堡中那个密室里隐藏的秘密一样。她为我打开了其他所有的房间，但要是我进不到最后那个锁着的房间，我是不会甘心的。” 我突然看到了一只小小的褐色的壁虎，高高地匍匐在墙上。这是一种友好的动物，能在房间里看到它们是件好事。那时，它正一动不动地盯着一只苍蝇。突然，它腾空而起，朝那苍蝇扑去，但在那苍蝇飞走后，它又退下阵来，好似经历了一番痉挛那般，又奇怪地安静了下来。 “并且，让我犹豫的还有另外一件事情。我觉得，如果我向她求婚，她拒绝了我，那我们可能再也回不到从前那种友好状态了，我无法接受这点。我讨厌看到这种情况发生，因为我非常喜欢去他们家玩。和她在一起时，我觉得自己好幸福。但你知道，人们有时却又无法控制住自己。我最终还是向她求婚了，但那几乎是个意外。一天傍晚，在用过晚餐后，我们一起在走廊上坐着——那时就只有我们两人。我牵了她的手，但她立刻便缩回去了。 “'你为什么要把手缩回去？'我问她。” “'我不喜欢与人进行身体接触。'她说。她略微歪了一下头，然后笑了。'我伤害到你了吗？你别介意，只是我对此感到不适而已，我也控制不了自己。' “'不知你有没有意识到，我非常非常喜欢你。'我说。 “我想，我当时应该是特别尴尬，因为在这之前，我还从未向别人求过婚。”说完，费瑟斯通发出了一点奇怪的声音，听起来既不像是笑声，也不像是叹息，“说到这个，在那之后，我也再没向别人求过婚了。那时，她沉默了好一会儿，然后她说： “'听你这么说，我感到很高兴，但我觉得，像现在这样同你做好朋友是最好的。' “'为什么？'我问道。 “'我绝不会离开蒂姆。' “'但如果他结婚了呢？' “'他也绝不会结婚的。' “我都已经说到那里了，我觉得自己最好继续说下去。然而我的喉咙却突然间一阵干燥，令我几乎说不出话来。我开始紧张得颤抖。 “'奥利弗，我非常爱你。现在对我来说，最想做的事情就是娶你回家。' “她很温柔地将手放到我的胳膊上，就像是一朵花飘落到大地上那样。 “'不，亲爱的，我不能嫁给你。'她说。 “我沉默了。要让我说出心里想要做的事，其实很难。我天性就比较害羞。而她又是个女孩。我无法开口告诉她，同丈夫生活在一起与同弟弟生活在一起是不一样的。她正常而健康，她一定也希望有自己的孩子，要压抑她的这些天性是不合理的。这完全就是对她的青春的一种浪费。然而之后，却又是她先开口了。 “'我们以后不要再谈论这个话题了。'她说，'可以吗？有那么一两次，我觉得你可能是爱上我了。蒂姆也发现了这点。我感到很遗憾，因为我怕这会破坏了我们之间的友谊。马克，我真的不希望那样。我们三人的相处是那么的愉快，我们曾一起度过了那样多美好的时光。现在，我真的不知道如果没有你，我们该怎么办。' “'我也考虑过这点。'我说。 “'你认为我们需要那样吗？'她问我。 “'亲爱的，我可不想。'我说，'你不知道我是多么喜欢来这里。从来没有一个地方能让我感到如此快活！' “'你不会生我气吗？' “'我为什么要生你的气？这不是你的错。这仅仅意味着你并不爱我。如果你是爱我的话，就不会那么在意蒂姆了。' “'你真是个好人。'她说。 “她将手放到我脖子上，并亲吻了我的面颊。我感觉，在她看来，我们的关系就这么定了。她已经将我视为第二个兄弟了。 “几周后，蒂姆回英国去了。他们位于多塞特郡的房产里的租户要离开了，他觉得自己应该回去同他们协商一番。此外，他的庄园里也需要一些新的机器，他觉得他可以顺便买回来。他的预计行程并未超过三个月，而奥利弗也决定不同他一起回去。英国几乎没有她认识的人，对她来说，那里事实上就是个异域。因此，她并不介意自己独自留下来，她想要看着他们的庄园。当然，他们可以安排一个经理来料理这一切，但那同自己亲自管理并不是一回事。橡胶业那时正在衰落之中，为防止意外情况的发生，确实应该留个自己人在那里。我答应蒂姆会照顾好奥利弗，并且，如果她需要我，她可以随时叫我过去。我的求婚并未影响到我们间的关系。我不知道她有没有告诉过蒂姆，总之他看起来一点儿也不像是已经知道了的样子。当然，我还是像从前一样爱她，但我并没有再表现出来。你知道，我有很强的自控能力。我能感觉到，自己是没有机会的。我希望我的爱最终能够有所转化，我希望我们可以成为非常要好的朋友。不过你知道，有趣的是，这感情却从未变过。我想，可能我的迷恋太深了，因此永远也走不出来。 “她去槟榔屿送别蒂姆，回来时，我在火车站碰到了她，并开车把她送回了家。蒂姆没在时，我没有常常去他们家，但我每个周日仍是会过去，同奥利弗一起用午餐，然后，我们还会一起去海边游泳。人们开始试着对她更好了，也常常邀请她同他们一起，然而她却常常拒绝他人的邀请。她很少离开自己的庄园。她有很多事可做。她总是进行大量的阅读，因此，她从不会感到无聊。她似乎很乐意独处，当有客人来时，对她而言似乎仅仅需要尽到招待的责任而已。她不希望人们觉得她不礼貌。但她也告诉过我，她是努力地在应付这一切，当她看到最后一个客人离开他们家时，总会感到如释重负，因为屋子里重又恢复了往日的平静与孤独，没有人再能打扰她了。她是个很有好奇心的女孩。在她那个年龄，竟会对聚会之类的乐事毫无兴趣，这让大家都觉得有些奇怪。希望你能明白我的意思：从精神上讲，她是个非常自立的人。我不知道人们是如何得知我对她的爱的，我觉得我从未公开表露过什么，但他们总是在处处暗示我，表明他们知道此事。他们以为，奥利弗没有跟着她弟弟回家，是因为我的缘故。一个叫作瑟吉森的女人——她的丈夫是个警察——事实上还问过我，他们什么时候才可以正式地恭喜我。当然，我假装不知道她在说些什么，但这类事件却从未因为我的冷漠而减少。我总是忍不住被人们逗乐。在奥利弗眼里，我是那么的微不足道，因此我觉得，她可能早就忘记了我曾向她求婚一事。我不是说她对我不友善，我觉得她不可能在任何人面前表现出不友善的样子，但她对我只是像一个姐姐对待弟弟那样漫不经心。她比我要大两三岁的样子。她总是很高兴见到我，但却从来不会为我费太多神，只是同我非常亲密而已；但你知道，和一个你一辈子都非常熟悉的人在一起时，你可能绝不会想要倾入更多的东西。或许她根本就没有把我看作一个男人，而只是一件她常常穿着的旧外套，穿着它安逸又舒适，但她不会去多想自己对它而言意味着什么。如果我看不出她一点儿也不爱我，那我才真的是疯了。 “然后，突然有一天，在蒂姆回来前三四个星期的样子，我到她家去时，发现她正在哭泣。我当时相当地震惊。她给人的感觉一直都是很冷静的，我从未见过她因任何事情而沮丧过。 “'出什么事了吗？'我问她。 “'没什么。' “'亲爱的，告诉我吧，'我说，'你是为了什么事情在哭泣？' “她试着想要恢复往日的那种笑容。 “'我真希望你的眼睛不要这样厉害。'她说，'我觉得我是在犯傻了。我刚刚收到蒂姆发来的电报，说他可能会晚点儿回来。' “'哦，亲爱的，对不起。'我说，'你想必会非常失望吧。' “'我一直在数着他即将归来的日子。我一直在盼着他回来。' “'他解释了推迟归家日期的理由吗？' “'没有，他说他会再给我写信。我给你看看他的电报吧。' “我发现，她那时非常焦虑。她那安静的眼里充满了恐惧，并且眉头紧蹙。她去自己的卧室取出了那封电报。我在读着电报时，甚至能感觉到她正紧张不安地看着我。我还记得当时电报上的内容：亲爱的，我不能按照原定的日期归来了。请原谅我。我将给你写信详细解释此事。最爱你的，蒂姆。 “'哦，可能他需要的机器还没准备好，他想要等着，一并带回来。'我说。 “'晚一点儿回来又有什么关系呢？即使乘坐前一艘船，也可能被搁浅在槟榔屿的。' “'也可能是因为那边的房子问题。' “'如果是那样的话，他为什么不直说？他应该知道，我可能会非常担心的。' “'他可能没有想到吧。'我说，'不管怎么说，当人们离开一个地方时，他们可能意识不到，留下的人不知道那些他们以为是理所当然的事情。' “她终于又露出了笑容，显得比之前要开心一些了。 “'我想你可能是对的。事实上，蒂姆就是有点儿像你说的那样。他向来都是马马虎虎的。我想，我可能是有些小题大做了。我应该耐心地等待他的来信的。' “奥利弗是个很有自制力的女孩，我看到她依靠自己的意志力恢复了理性。她的愁眉得到了舒展，她又变回了那个平静、爱笑而又友善的奥利弗。她总是那么温柔沉着，但那天她的表现却让人很震惊。然而接下来的日子里，我发现她似乎只是将她的不安隐藏了起来。她就像是预感到了某些不好的东西一样。在蒂姆的信件预计将要到来的前一天，我刚好同她在一起。我能感到她有些焦虑，然而她似乎在尽量将它隐藏起来。在有信件到来的日子里，我总会很忙，但我答应她会在晚些时候去庄园看她，一起分享蒂姆带来的消息。那天，在我刚准备动身时，哈代家的车便出现在我家门前，来人告诉我说，哈代家的阿妈捎信来，要我马上去看他们家小姐。他们家的阿妈是个正派的老妇人，我曾给过她一两美元，让她在庄园出事时一定要第一时间通知我。我立刻跳进了自己的车内。等我到达他们家时，发现阿妈已在门口的石阶上等我。 “'今天早上，家里来了封信。'她说。 “我打断了她，并立刻拾级而上。我去了起居室，发现那里并没有人。 “'奥利弗。'我叫道。 “我赶到通道里，突然，我听到了一阵让我心痛不已的声音。阿妈一直在后面跟着我，这会儿，她打开了奥利弗房间的门。我听到的是奥利弗的哭声。我走了进去。她在床上躺着，浑身都在因为抽噎而颤抖。我伸出手来，放到了她肩上。 “'发生什么事了，奥利弗？'我问。 “'你是谁？'她叫道，随即一跃而起，就像是被吓坏了一样。接着，她又说：'哦，是你。'她站在我面前，双目紧闭，头往后仰，眼泪不住地往下流。那场景非常可怕。'蒂姆结婚了。'她哽咽着吐出了这几个字，面色扭曲，像是正在经历着极大的痛苦。 “我不得不承认的是，有那么一会儿，我突然感到一阵狂喜，像是一股电流穿过了我的心；我意识到，现在，我总算有机会了，她或许会同意和我结婚的。我知道我这样做很自私，要知道，我也对这消息感到非常震惊。但这想法并未在我脑海中停留太久，没过多久，我便被她的悲痛感染了，我只是感到一阵的悲伤，因为奥利弗此刻很不开心。我伸出手来，绕过了她的腰间。 “'哦，亲爱的，这消息真让人感到难过。'我说，'别待在这里了，去起居室吧，我们可以坐下来谈一谈。我给你弄点儿喝的东西吧！' “我牵着她到了隔壁的房间，然后我们在沙发上坐了下来。我让阿妈取来了威士忌和吸水管，并让奥利弗喝下了一些。我抱着她，让她的头靠在我肩上。她并没有表示任何抗议或反抗。她的眼泪还是不住地往下流。 “'他怎么可以这样，'她喃喃地说道，'他怎么可以这样。' “'亲爱的，'我说，'这样的事情早晚都会发生的。他是个年轻的男人，你怎么能指望他一辈子不结婚呢？这只是非常自然的事情。' “'不，不，不！'她呜咽着说。 “她的手里紧紧握着一封信，我猜，那应该就是蒂姆写来的信了。 “'他在信里都说了些什么？'我问道。 “接着，她做出了一个很惊人的举动：她将那信抱到自己胸前，就像是认为我会从她手里将它抢走一样。 “'他说他无法控制自己了。他说他必须要这样做。这些都意味着什么？' “'好吧，你知道，你弟弟和你一样，也非常迷人，他也很有魅力。我猜他可能是疯狂地爱上了某个女孩，而那女孩也爱他。' “'他真是软弱。'奥利弗喃喃道。 “'他们现在出发了吗？'我问她。 “'他们乘昨天的船出发的。他说，这并不意味着我们的关系会有任何改变。他真的是疯了。我怎么还能够再待在这里？' “她开始发疯似的哭了起来。看到那个一向很冷静的女孩完全被击垮，完全丧失理智，是件非常折磨人的事情。我一直觉得，她那可爱的恬静下面隐藏了深厚的感情。我也不忍心看到她那么痛苦。我把她抱起来，亲吻了她的眼睛，她那布满眼泪的脸颊以及她的头发。我想，她可能并不清楚我在做什么，我也有些丧失了理智。那一刻，我感到非常激动。 “'我该怎么办才好？'她痛哭着说。 “'那你嫁给我好吗？'我说。 “她开始试着想要挣脱我，然而我却并没有松手。 “'不管怎样，这总是个比较好的解决办法。'我说。 “'我怎么可以嫁给你？'她呻吟着说，'我可是比你年长很多的。' “'哦，不要胡说八道了，也不过就大那么两三岁而已。你觉得我会在乎吗？' “'不行，不行。' “'为什么不行？'我问道。 “'我并不爱你。'她说。 “'这又有什么关系？我爱你，这不就够了吗？' “我也不知道我都说了些什么。我告诉她，我会努力使她幸福的。我说，我不会要求她任何事，我只接受她愿意给我的东西。我就那么一直说着。我试图让她变得理性些。我感觉到，她并不想再待在那里，不想再和蒂姆住在同一个地方，然后我告诉她，我可以很快搬到另一个区。我以为这样可以诱惑到她。一直以来，我们的相处都非常融洽，她无法否认这点。过了一会儿，她看起来冷静些了。我感觉她有在听我讲话。我甚至感觉到，她知道自己正躺在我怀里，并且也觉得很舒适。我又让她再喝了一些威士忌，然后给了她一根烟。最后，我好像是讲了一些不咸不淡的笑话。 “'你知道，我真的不是个坏人。'我说，'没有我的话，你可能会更糟糕。' “'你不了解我，'她说，'你一点儿也不了解我。' “'我愿意去了解你。'我说。 “她笑了一下。 “'马克，你真是太好了。'她说。 “'奥利弗，答应我吧。'我恳求她。 “她深深地叹了口气，然后盯着地板看了很长时间。但她没有动，依旧躺在我怀里，而我也感觉到了她身体的柔软。我一直等着。我那时非常紧张，几分钟的时间就好像是过了一辈子。 “'好吧。'她终于开口道，就像她没有意识到我的祈求与她的回答间已有很长一段距离。 “我非常激动，一点儿不知道该说什么。但当我想要亲吻她的嘴时，她转过了脸，不让我吻她。我希望我们能马上结婚，但她却坚决反对。她坚持要等蒂姆回来后再说。你知道，有时候，人们会非常清楚对方的想法，即使对方没有讲出来，你也同样可以确切地感觉到。我意识到，她其实不大相信蒂姆所写的是真的，她还有些不切实际的幻想，认为这一切只是个误会，而蒂姆也绝不会结婚的。这让我感到非常痛苦，因为我是那么爱她，我对这事感到厌烦。但我愿意忍受任何事情。我热爱、敬爱甚至是崇拜她，然而她却不准我告诉任何人我们订婚的事。她让我发誓，在蒂姆回来以前，决不向别人提及此事。她说，她不想接受别人的祝贺什么的。她甚至也不让我告诉别人蒂姆结婚的事。对此，她表现出了无比的倔强。我意识到，她觉得一旦这消息得以传播开来，她所不期望发生的事情似乎就更为确定了。 “然而事情却出乎了她的意料。这消息竟不可思议地在东部大肆传播开来。我不知道奥利弗在最初收到那封信时对阿妈说了什么，总之，哈代家的司机将此事告知了瑟吉森一家，后来，在我去俱乐部时，瑟吉森太太拦住了我。 “'我听说蒂姆·哈代结婚了。'她说。 “'啊？'我回答说，一点儿也不想承认这事。 “看着我一脸苍白的样子，她笑了，并告诉我，在她的阿妈告诉她这个传闻以后，她去找过奥利弗，问她这消息是不是真的。但奥利弗的回答相当奇怪。她并没有完全证实它，只是说，她收到了一封蒂姆写来的信，信上说，他已经结婚了。 “'她真是个奇怪的女孩。'瑟吉森太太说，'当我向她询问更多细节时，她说她无可奉告；而当我问她有没有为此消息而感到激动时，她也没有回答。' “'瑟吉森太太，奥利弗很爱蒂姆，'我说，'他结婚的事自然会给她带来巨大的冲击。她对蒂姆的妻子一无所知。她可能对她感到有些不安。' “'那你们两人什么时候会结婚？'她突然问我。 “'这可真是个令人尴尬的问题！'我说，并试图用微笑来搪塞掉它。 “她机警地望着我。 “'你敢跟我保证你并没有同奥利弗订婚吗？' “我并不想故意欺骗她，或者让她不要多管闲事，然而我又诚恳地答应过奥利弗，在蒂姆回来以前，自己不会向外界